Look At Me
by FountainOfPens
Summary: Draco Malfoy has always starved for attention.  After the war, there's nothing to distract him from trying everything to get it from a certain Harry Potter.  How low will the Slytherin Prince have to go to accomplish his goal?  HarryDraco.
1. Chapter One: Attention

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Harry Potter universe or its characters.

**Author's Note:** There will be swearing and slash in this story. Don't like, don't read.

Draco Malfoy was supremely bored in Potions class. _Ugh, come on, I know this already! Why do we have to go over it eighteen zillion times?_ He leaned back in his chair with a quiet sigh. He looked over at Potter, a seat ahead of him on the Gryffindor side of the room. He was resolutely paying attention and taking notes.

Draco smiled. _Well, can't have that, can we?_ He was above spitballs—he was a little more dignified than the average Slytherin when it came to things involving bodily fluids, he thought—but bits of paper dipped in ink and sent on their way with a flying charm were, he thought, an opportune way of getting Potter's attention. And he'd remember Draco for the rest of the week because of the stains.

He sent one at Potter, who didn't even notice the black liquid dripping over the side of his collar. Annoyed, Draco sent another one. Still, Potter didn't look up. _Damn it, Potter! Look at me! Fucking look… at… m—there you go._ Draco sent Potter, whose green eyes flashed with irritation, his best prattish smile. He quickly wrote the words "I know I'm beautiful, Potter, but it's rude to stare" on some notepaper and held it up for Potter to see. Potter read it, frowning, then rolled his eyes and trained them on Professor Slughorn once more.

_God, Potter, you've sunk low since the war! You'd prefer to look at Slughorn over me? I don't think so._ Draco smiled, staring at the back of Potter's head.

"Draco? Why the hell are you looking at Potter like that?" Zabini hissed.

"Shh, Blaise. You're talking to a genius in the middle of brewing liquid hell for Potter. If I've got to suffer through double review Potions, then he'll suffer, too."

Zabini just shook his head. He had thought that after the war, Draco and Harry's silly little rivalry would cease. But it had just gotten worse—as had Draco's obsession with the other boy. Draco barely discussed his feelings with anyone, let alone Zabini, but the other boy had heard his half-drunken ravings on "those eyes of Potter's, and that fucking shag hair! What, does he get some every other class?"

Draco was now working on writing a single word in elegant script on a piece of notepaper. It said _Prat_. Draco sighed. Yes, he'd prefer something more elegant, but the idea was to get Potter's attention, which this would, even if it was only a roll of those pools of emerald he could stare into for ages—_Oh, how I'd like to see them roll back in other circumstances_—or a middle finger. Maybe he couldn't have Potter's gaze fixed on him the way it was on Slughorn (shudder), but he could make him look for a short while every few minutes.

Draco folded up the paper and blew it over to Potter. He frowned and opened the piece of paper, and sent Draco a look that could have curdled milk. However, Draco just sent him his best seraphic smile. To his amazement, Potter stared a little longer. Something—_different_ was in his eyes. Draco met his eyes, trying to hide raw desire and clawing curiosity.

Then Potter shook himself and looked away with another brief glare.

_Oh, no you don't, _Draco thought with a grin. _I'm going to have to resort to detention. One more distraction ought to do it. Potter has a short fuse, especially with me._

"Mr. Malfoy," said Slughorn, "can you list all the ingredients of Amortentia?"

Draco rattled them off absently, resolutely not looking at Potter but feeling the intense jade eyes on him like slow bullets taking their time ripping through his body. But in a good way.

That was what he hated about Potter. Well, really, he hated _everything_ about Potter, but they said that hate was an attracting force, just like love. But Draco was lying to himself even if he said that. What it really was, the source of his attraction, was the fact that Potter had and was everything Draco could never have and never be. So he told himself he hated it, that he didn't want it, but he did—oh god, yes, he did. It was sick, but Draco had gotten used to it, and after he got tired of daily bouts of self-loathing, he finally told himself, _All right, you're sick. Now can we stare at Potter?_

But what he "hated" about Potter was that he made bad feelings, anxious feelings, tight feelings bubble and boil in Draco's gut, and that he made Draco like it. Of course, he was being ridiculous, blaming Harry, but hell—who else did he have to blame? Might as well blame the Boy Who Lived for being so kindhearted and sweet and brave and so fucking _hot_.

Slughorn had moved on about halfway through Draco's inner musings, and now he was talking to, of all people, the Golden Boy. _Damn it! But I have to get him and Slughorn mad enough so we both get detention._ Draco smiled wickedly. He knew just how to do it.

Zabini tugged his sleeve as he turned towards the Gryffindor side of the room, starting to open his mouth. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed.

"That, stunningly enough, is none of your business," Draco murmured back, and then waited until Potter was halfway through the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion. "Oh, come on, Potter, you don't really know this! Why keep up the farce? Why don't you just shove Snape's textbook in the Professor's face, with all my godfather's nice little notes in the margins?"

Potter stood up, eyes burning. "Shut up, Malfoy! Now! I swear, this whole _class_ you have just been attempting to distract me! Throwing bits of paper and sending me notes that say _prat_ I can deal with, but you've gone too fucking far!"

Draco stood. "Have I? For speaking the truth?"

"For _twisting_ the truth, damn you! It's not like I stole Snape's textbook! I just found it!"

"Is that so? A bit like if I walked over and snatched those _darling_ glasses of yours? That would be finding them, wouldn't it?"

Harry's eyes flashed and he started to draw his wand.

Draco's hand went to his wand as well.

"_Detention_! Malfoy, Potter, you will stay after class, and I will speak with you about _doing_ something about your constant interruptions!"

Draco hid a smile. Harry was glaring daggers at him, but he could deal with it. It was, after all, attention.


	2. Chapter Two: Detention

"Malfoy," said Harry insistently. They were cleaning the Potions classroom together, which they would do for the next two weeks. Draco had winced upon hearing the sentence; he hadn't expected such heavy penance. He only needed one day of detention to talk to Harry. Not that he minded the extra thirteen, but Draco felt it was a little inordinate, considering the fact that he and Potter really hadn't done much.

"What?" asked Draco, lazily scrubbing a desk.

"What did you do that for? Today, I mean." Harry's eyes were fixed on a point other than Draco's face—the desk he was cleaning or the floor, Draco wasn't sure. The point was that Harry was still not looking at him.

"What do you mean, what did I do that for?" Draco drawled, "Why do I usually make incendiary remarks?"

"To piss me off. But you knew what would happen if you did. Last I checked, you usually avoid detention with me when you can."

"Depends, Potter, depends."

Harry jumped a little, startled. "What the fuck is this all about, Malfoy? You're scaring me."

Draco smiled. "Your concern is touching, Potter." Angry green eyes burned more bullet holes in his back, but Draco didn't care. He wondered if it was sick that he was so obsessed with getting Harry's attention. He sighed. _Of course it is. We've been over this, Draco._

"Malfoy. Tell me what is going on with you. You've been even more annoying lately than ever before. Are you just bored or what?"

_Bored? No. Fascinated. Obsessed._ And Draco almost said it. But he bit his tongue, and what came out was, "Why do you care, Potter?"

This didn't have the desired effect of throwing Harry, instead causing an eyeroll and a pointed, "I thought that much was obvious. I told you, you are being really annoying and probably bringing my average down."

"Uh-huh. What makes you think I care?"

Harry grabbed Draco's shoulder and made the other boy face him, eyes burning. "You will care," he hissed, leaning in close to Draco, "because if you persist in this—this _ridiculousness_, I will turn you into a fucking hole in the ground." He sighed. "I don't know what happened to you. In the first few weeks of the year, it almost seemed like we could get along. But apparently a few weeks was enough for you to feel grateful that I saved your miserable little life!"

That startled Draco into truth. "I—I'm not ungrateful! It's just—I wanted attention."

Harry blinked, the rage in his face replaced by confusion. "A-attention?"

"Yes, Potter! I'm like a fucking Christmas decoration! I have to be looked at, seen, appreciated!"

Some of the anger seeped back into Harry's voice. "So now you're acting crazy because of your vanity."

"Well—yes—no—I-I wanted—still want—you _specifically_ to…" he trailed off because Harry was staring at him.

Harry's hand went to Draco's cheek, and both boys' breath caught. _Damn Potter and his ability to make my lungs stop working… bloody uncomfortable…_ Draco thought airily, or rather lack of airily. "I can't believe it," Harry said softly, smiling, "I got the Slytherin Prince to lose his cool."

Draco engaged in a futile fight to keep pink from spreading onto his pale cheeks, "Yes, well, I—"

"It was the cutest thing I've ever seen. I forgive you."

Draco laughed weakly, palms sweating. "Damn, Potter. Have to try that more often."

Something flared in the twin emerald irises that were closing in on Draco, blocked only by a thin glass pane, which was suddenly not there anymore. He noticed something glint in the light in his peripheral vision. _Oh my god, he took his glasses off, he's so fucking pretty… oh my sweet fucking Merlin, he is going to—_

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter! Have you finished cleaning the room?"

Slughorn was outside, turning the doorknob, and Draco and Harry were on completely opposite sides of the room. "Not yet, Professor!" Harry called.

"Well, it's late. You should get back to your dorms."

He walked in and returned their wands, which he'd taken to make sure they didn't just cast _Scourgify_. They refused to look at each other. Draco had lost the battle with his now-reddened cheeks.

"You boys look very healthy. See? Cleaning the Muggle way is healthy!" Slughorn said. Both boys tried hard not to choke. "All right. Be on your way."

Unfortunately, Slughorn followed them out, so Draco was unable to give Harry a proper goodbye (shoving him up against the nearest wall and fucking his brains out), but he wasn't worried. He hoped Potter had meant that almost-kiss. Draco was warm already from speculating about tomorrow.


	3. Chapter Three: Inception

Draco sped through the day, barely paying attention and losing points for Slytherin left and right. He ignored his friends' questions and turned his attention to fantasies and strategies on the theme of seducing Harry. Finally, _finally_, it was time for detention, and Draco had to stop himself from racing to the classroom. As it was, he arrived five minutes early.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his lightly disheveled platinum hair. He'd entertained several pleasurable—although implausible—ideas over the course of the day, but what was he actually going to _say_? "So, Potter, I really liked that, last night. Did I mention that I'm gay and that I've kind of become obsessed with you?" That was _sure_ to go over well. If he was lucky he'd just get a weird stare.

_Maybe I should wait for Harry to say something? After all, he started it._ But he rejected that idea almost immediately; it was not the Malfoy way to be so dependent on someone else. "Well, a bit late for that," he muttered with a wry smile.

"Bit late for what?"

Draco convulsed and whirled around. "Merlin, Potter! Don't _do_ that." He cocked an eyebrow. "And that is absolutely none of your business."

Harry raised an eyebrow of his own. "I see. Enigmatic, aren't we?"

Draco bit back a laugh as he replied, "Maybe."

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but then Slughorn arrived to take their wands.

Draco didn't know what exactly he expected, but he had wanted Harry to say _something_, anything. However, the Chosen One remained silent as he cleaned his side of the room. The air was unbearably thick, and Draco entertained the idea of inventing tension-cutting knives, imagining a garish, 50's-esque ad expounding on their multiple uses. _Great at Parties!_ He suppressed a snicker.

At long last, there was an audible throat-clearing from the other side of the room. Draco turned to face Harry with raised eyebrows. _Yes, Potter? Come on, spit it out already!_

"So, last night…" Harry began.

When he didn't continue, Draco prompted guardedly, "What about it?"

"Last night I…" Harry bit his lip, and Draco had indecent thoughts which he hurriedly shoved to the back of his mind for later perusal.

"Potter, I've got half a room to clean," Draco said, not exactly gently but without the normal edge.

"Right, sorry, I—fuck. Look, I—I don't know what came over me then, but—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"Potter? Just—shut up for a second, okay?" Draco took a few deep breaths. _Come on. Confess. Now's the time, or you'll lose him forever. He thinks, for some weird reason, that you didn't enjoy that almost-kiss last night._ But instead of the planned, "Potter, I'm desperately in love with you, don't worry about it," what came out was, "Did you mean it?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

Draco stared resolutely at the floor. "I said, did you bloody well fully intend to kiss me before Professor Slughorn so rudely interrupted?"

"I—I—" he sighed, adjusting his glasses. "I happen to know exactly what I want to say, but I also know that if I say it I am in some vastly deep shit."

_Good sign, I think._ "Well, no one's here, and if that clock's correct, then Slughorn isn't due for a good half hour," Draco said carefully.

"You're here."

Draco stared at Harry for a bit, dumbstruck at his astonishing stupidity. Then he scowled and said, "Yes, Potter, I'm fucking here. For you, actually. That just so happens to be the point."

Harry mirrored Draco's previous incredulous look. "Wh—what did you just—"

"Will you please fucking tell me what's going on? Whatever it is won't go beyond this room or you have every right to, I don't know, hang me from the Astronomy Tower or something." Draco tried to sound irritable to hide his worry. _I mean, sure, I'd feel weird about confiding in someone who's been my worst enemy since I first came to Hogwarts—irrespective of the fact that this worst enemy happens to be in love with the object of his supposed animosity, but he doesn't know that—but what does he mean about deep shit? He's Harry Potter! He fucking craps diamonds and pukes sunshine! He couldn't make people hate him if he tried! …Could he?_

Harry laughed suddenly. "This is so weird! Of all people, I mean—Ron and Hermione don't even—but it's fitting, I guess." Harry took a deep breath, and Draco willed himself to be silent. "I—yes, I meant it, last night. Draco, you drive me nuts. I get this rush every time you mouth off at me and remind me I'm human. You're beautiful and I can't get you out of my head for love or money." He sighed. Draco's heart was hammering, hope rising in his chest, but he could tell that Harry wasn't done. He kept quiet, even though he knew Harry's next words might hurt. "But I have a fucking girlfriend who's practically my fiancée. I'll lose my best friend if I dump her again. And—the whole wizarding world is watching me, okay? Are always watching me. If everyone knew that I was gay—and I don't even know what your family would do to me, let alone you. Even on the off chance that you—reciprocate my feelings, I can't afford to—"

"Look, who has to know?" Draco said tersely, desperately.

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again. He was quiet for a minute. "I wouldn't want to go behind my friends' backs," he said carefully, staring at Draco.

"They don't even know you're gay."

Harry adjusted his glasses. "So you, er—"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Was that not implicit? Yes, I do er, as you put it." He took a breath and said in a slightly stilted fashion, "And to be honest, I kind of—I don't want to be your—thing on the side, you know? But if that's all I can be, I'll settle for that." Draco stared into Harry's eyes, hoping that the other boy knew he was being serious.

"You deserve better." Harry had such tenderness in his eyes that it was all Draco could do not to kiss him.

He laughed. "Better than Harry Potter? I'm not that much of a perfectionist."

Harry stood there, blinking, and then leaned over and kissed him.

First it was gentle—for the first minute or so, when both of them were still registering what was going on. Then Draco realized—_I'm kissing Harry Potter, and I'm just _sitting here_?_—and grabbed Harry's face, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips roughly against Harry's, noting with satisfaction the resulting moan. He ran his tongue over Harry's bottom lip, nipping it flirtatiously as he asked for entrance. Harry complied, twining his tongue with Draco's, earning a fevered "oh god, _yes_," for his trouble. Draco started unbuttoning Harry's shirt when he suddenly pulled away and said, "We've got to stop this."

"_Why_, for Merlin's sake?" Draco asked irritably and unthinkingly. His body was screaming for more, and his mind wouldn't object to continuing either.

"Because I won't be able to stop later on," Harry said with enough heat in his voice to boil an ocean.

Draco grinned mischievously. "I fail to see how that's a problem." He grabbed Harry's collar and smashed his mouth onto the other boy's as soon as it was within reach.

"Draco…" Harry moaned breathily. "Seriously…"

Draco studiously ignored him, being more focused on kissing his way down Harry's chest and groping him every now and then. Harry started on unbuttoning Draco's shirt, reaching over to nibble his earlobe. "Ah!" Draco cried, allowing Harry to shift them so that Draco was pinned to the desk beneath him. Draco pulled him into a fevered kiss.

Then they heard footsteps outside. They looked at each other with the same "Oh shit" expression and flew apart, trying furiously to get their half-removed shirts and skewed ties looking halfway presentable and not suspiciously disheveled.

"Damn it, and it's not even all the way _clean_!" Draco moaned miserably.

Harry laughed. "Of all the things you could worry about in this situation—"

Slughorn came in. "Boys? Are you done?"

Harry started to open his mouth, but Draco quickly cut in, "Sorry, sir, we're completely exhausted from Quidditch practice earlier, and we've been taking a little longer than usual. We should be done in another half hour."

Slughorn looked at them sternly. Harry kept his composure, but Draco could see the amusement shining in his eyes, and knew that his expression probably mirrored the other boy's. Finally Slughorn said, "All right. But you'd better be done then!" He went back outside.

Harry waited until the professor's footsteps had faded to say, grinning, "You harlot."

"When it comes to you? Fuck yes," said Draco easily and shamelessly, and threw himself at Harry with new fury and passion.

Harry gave as good as he got until it was five minutes till Slughorn was due to return, during which they had to apply their industry to getting the room suitably clean. Luckily Slughorn stayed in the classroom after he returned their wands, so Draco had the chance to shove Harry against the wall, kissing him squarely and huskily murmuring, "Till tomorrow, Potter."

Harry laughed. "I'll be waiting, Malfoy." The words sent shivers down Draco's spine that didn't abate until morning.


	4. Chapter Four: Interruption

They fell quickly into a routine: arrive, give their wands to Slughorn, make out for most of the hour they were usually allotted to clean the classroom, spend an especially industrious fifteen minutes cleaning. Some days it irked Draco that their relationship was mostly physical, but to Harry's credit, he made an effort to talk afterwards if it seemed appropriate.

The other thing that worried Draco was that he could tell that Harry wasn't totally comfortable with this. Of course, it almost always just took one come-hither look from Draco to get his mind off of his morals, but that uncertainty in Harry's gaze every time they greeted each other for detention hurt him a little. He knew it didn't really have anything to do with him—it was just that Harry felt bad lying to his friends and girlfriend. A part of Draco always said, "So why doesn't he just break it off with the Weaselette?" but he always countered with, "But what if—knock on wood—it doesn't work out? He has nothing to fall back on if he breaks it off with her, and the Weasel would probably kill him."

But still, Draco was afraid that he was going to lose Harry because of the other's scruples. And the thing was that if he thought about it, Draco didn't really buy some of the things Harry had passed off as reasons why they couldn't be together. Sure, there'd be a furor over the fact that Harry was gay if he came out, but everyone would get over it. And as to the Weaselette—it couldn't be lost on her that he and Harry couldn't take their eyes off each other whenever they were in the same vicinity. Besides, if Harry wanted to avoid hurting her, breaking up with her now (for the perfectly plausible reason that he spent a good forty-five minutes each day recently making out with Draco Malfoy) was going to cause her less pain than dropping the bomb when they were married (god forbid) and had their two-point-five kids. And the Weasel would get over it too. After all, if Harry was gay, how could the Weasel expect him to stay in a relationship with a girl? And if for some reason the Weasel was too dense to accept that, then Draco considered it no great loss, although Harry obviously felt differently.

The only good reason, really, to keep the relationship private and in a kind of transient state was the fact that his father might just stop messing about already and kill him. After the mistakes of the war, Lucius Malfoy was none too happy with his only son and heir. To find out that Draco was gay and currently fully engaged in a clandestine affair with Harry Potter—well, that would probably push him over the edge. But it wasn't as though Draco couldn't find a way around tha—_fuck_. Well, he could put some time into it—

"Draco! Are you awake?"

Draco had his wand in his hand and half a curse out of his mouth by the time he realized it was Pansy Parkinson rousing him from his thoughts. He relaxed with a sigh. "Yes, unfortunately," he answered, pocketing his wand.

"What are you thinking about?" She had _that look_ in her eyes, and Draco had to keep from rolling his. It was what he called a Girl Question, the ones no straight male could answer properly and had some convoluted psychology behind them meant to either incriminate or deify the object of their affections. He was aware that this was slightly unfair—it was a valid question, if one with a very difficult answer—but he classed it firmly in the Girl Question category because of the look on her face which was clearly meant to induce him to answer, "You."

"I've a Potions essay I'd forgotten about," Draco said in his most blasé and uninterested tones. He glanced about the library, trying to find anyone but Pansy to look at or talk to—there. He smiled slightly as he met a pair of expressive verdant eyes so cruelly hidden behind those thick glass panes. The eyes sparked and then, strangely, pain flashed through them, and they looked away. Draco frowned. _What's wrong?_ He was itching to go over and interrogate Harry, but he was with Granger and the Weasel, and besides there were several other students in the library as well. He'd have to wait until detention.

Pansy was saying something else. "—and you _never_ forget Potions homework, you _love_ Potions—"

"Pansy?"

"Yes?"

"_Please_ shut up. Accidents happen, all right?"

"Okay."

As usual, they waited until Slughorn's footsteps had faded, and Draco moved towards Harry, lust in his eyes.

"Wait, Draco. I want to talk to you."

Draco licked his lips. "Fine, but make it fast. I _want_ you, Harry."

Harry shivered. Draco liked when Harry shivered, but then he shifted a bit uncomfortably and said, "I—Draco, I don't feel _right_ doing this. I mean, I feel right with you, but I—I need to think about what we've been doing and my future and… Basically, I need a bit of space. I think I need to stop this for now."

Draco's gut was somewhere below the dungeons. He couldn't speak. Of course, Harry had said that he "felt right" with Draco, which was a good thing, but what if he decided that ultimately it was his _duty _or some Gryffindor shit to be with Ginny Weasley? Or what if he ended the relationship to "protect" Draco? He well knew that letting Harry go now might mean losing him forever. But then, what if Harry thought about it and left Ginny, damning the consequences? What if he finally decided to do something for himself?

There were so many ways for this to play out. Draco didn't like that. A fifty percent chance of getting Harry back, he could take, but this—

_And what choice do you have, Draco? Are you going to refuse him?_

"Please say something, Draco. Please." Harry's voice was raw, his face pained.

"I…" _don't want you to leave, please, just break it off with the Weaselette, it's that simple—_"I respect your decision. I just—I hope you know I—" Draco bit his tongue.

"You what?"

Harry's face was so sweet, such caring in his eyes. Draco flushed slightly and said, "I love you. No—no matter what happens."

Harry looked at him like there was no one else in the world but the two of them, no one else in _existence_. It made Draco's heart hurt. "Draco, I—"

"Don't say it unless you're sure you mean it, Harry." He said it carefully, keeping the bitterness and sadness out of his tone. _How can he break up with me, albeit possibly temporarily, and still look at me that way?_

They finished cleaning the room in silence and much quicker than usual. Draco spent most of the time thinking. The seed of an idea had been planted in his head, and he left for the dungeons feeling strangely hopeful.

If Harry couldn't see right away that he and the Weaselette were never meant to be and that he and Draco were soulmates, Draco was just going to have to help him out a bit.


	5. Chapter Five: Intervention

No matter how much he wanted to just dive in and implement that seed of a crazy plan that had been planted in his head during detention, Draco knew he needed to prepare for a scheme like this. He had to do research.

This he did, and diligently. He finished out his detentions with Potter in silence, secretly watching Harry move with longing but also forcing himself to concentrate on the way in which Harry avoided looking at him by scrubbing at an imaginary spot on the desk, or the exact expression he had on when he opened his mouth to say something and then closed it, thinking better of it. He forced himself not to follow Harry around, but to instead take note of places Harry turned up—_the shy Potterus gorgeous in its natural habitat_. He memorized Harry's facial expressions, his voice's every inflection, because this plan was going to have to be sensitive to Harry's emotions and mutable according to Harry's reactions to each step.

After two weeks, Draco thought he was ready. He knew exactly what he was going to do first.

"Draco? Draco, is something wrong?"

Pansy again. _For the love of Merlin, does that girl _never_ stop following me?_ "No, why would there be?" Draco turned sharply left, eyes burning holes into the window display of Hogsmeade's only bookshop.

"You _never _come here…"

"Pansy, it is truly touching that you've taken the time to so diligently commit to memory that which I _never_ do, but if you really have done such then you ought to know that my primary characteristic is that of being a changeful, albeit clever, bastard."

Pansy ran a few steps to keep up with Draco's hurried gait. "Okay, but—you've been acting _really_ weird lately—"

"Changeful. Bastard. Did you not hear me? You'd best be quiet once we enter the bookshop, I really do need to buy this volume." _My indisputable right to be with Harry Potter depends on it. On many other things as well, but this is only the first step, and I'll burn those bridges when I come to them. Come to—oh, it really has been too long. Fuck, I miss Potter and his wandering hands!_ He derailed that train of thought quickly as he stepped inside the shop. He knew exactly where his book would be.

Pansy gave a little shriek when she saw that Draco was clearly heading for the Gay and Lesbian section. She rushed over and latched onto his arm, leechlike, and hissed, "What are you _doing_?"

"Buying a gift for someone." Draco's answer was cool, tempered with slight annoyance.

"It's not Christmas!"

"So? This gift isn't exactly going to be given out of holiday spirit." Draco ran his finger along the shelves, reading titles. _Oh, if only I could remember the author's bloody _name_!_

"Oh, _I_ see. So it's a prank?"

Draco shook his head, preoccupation leading to honesty. "It's to prove a point." At last his index found the violet spine it sought, and he grinned. "Aha!" Triumphantly, he dragged a book called _Beneath the Robes: The Private Lives of Britan's Greatest Wizards_ from the shelves.

"Uh, Draco? _What_ is _that_?"

Draco ran an annoyed hand through his hair. "What does it look like? Can't you read?"

"How—how did you hear about this book?"

Draco beckoned her to follow him as he walked brusquely to the register and replied, "You know, normally I'd tell you that you were sticking your pug nose much too far into my business, but since I'm in a good mood today I'll tell you that I believe I saw my father burning it once. Just a hunch." He made the purchase and thanked Merlin that the shopkeeper didn't seem to recognize him, and that the shop wasn't very crowded. Then he hustled out and ignored Pansy while attempting to find Blaise.

"Dra-_co_, you've got to—"

"Ah, Draco! Haven't seen you in a while," said Blaise, whom Draco had finally spotted outside the Three Broomsticks. Blaise put his arm around Draco and quickly steered him away from Pansy. "You owe me one, mate."

Draco grinned. "Much obliged, and indeed I do."

"So, since you owe me one, what the hell did you get at the book store? You don't _read_. Not unless it's about Quidditch or Potions and something you can readily get at the school library."

"It's a gift," said Draco smoothly. "And definitely not the kind of stuff they'd have at the library. It's somewhat controversial, and it contains some dirt about our dear former headmaster."

Blaise's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Dumbledore? You've gotta let me see this thing."

Draco coughed to disguise a laugh. "I don't think it's the kind of dirt you're thinking of, Blaise. It's, er—it calls his sexuality into question."

Blaise laughed. "That's exactly the kind of dirt I was thinking of. Let me see it."

"Not just him, either. Some twenty wizards."

"Do I have to grab that thing from you or will you give it to me?"

Draco laughed and handed it over. "But I need it back. It's a gift for someone."

Blaise turned the book over a few times. "Odd gift."

"Yes." If Blaise wasn't going to ask, then Draco wasn't going to tell.

By the time they'd gotten back from Hogsmeade, Blaise had read up to Chapter Four. Draco was patiently (saying, "Can I have it back now?" every five minutes—that is _very_ patient for Draco Malfoy when he isn't planning something) waiting for Blaise to return it, itching to get to the owlery. "Come _on_, Blaise. I want to mail my gift," he wheedled, plopping himself on the other's bed.

"Half a minute. I want to finish this chapter," said Blaise, turning a page.

"That's what you said ten minutes ago!"

"That's right. And five minutes ago, which is the last time you asked. It's rather a long chapter," Blaise said pointedly, although the undertone of amusement told Draco he wasn't as annoyed as he was putting on. They were quiet for a minute. Then Blaise asked, "And who's this a gift for, exactly?"

Draco colored slightly and said, "Someone."

Blaise looked up at his friend curiously. "Oh, being mysterious, are we?"

"Yes. Will you give it back? I have no issue with going out after curfew to mail it, but it's easier if I can get it done earlier." Draco said, tone a tad terse.

"I'll give it back if you tell me who—"

"That is terribly tacky, Blaise. So tacky I won't even let you finish."

Blaise read a bit more, thinking. "This wouldn't be a rather subtle way of telling Pansy you're gay, would it?" he asked. "Because that would be a really stupid way of doing things, and she would force herself not to see the point you're trying to make."

Draco just laughed. "No! Merlin, Blaise, what do you take me for?"

"You'd do something like that if you were annoyed enough," said Blaise defensively.

"Only if I were really, _really_ annoyed." _Which I am. And frustrated, in more ways than—no. I will refrain from thinking another dirty thought about Potter until such time as it can be acted upon._ He cleared his throat. "Give me the book."

"Just a—"

"If you do not hand over that volume _right now_, I am going to hurt you very badly." Draco made sure his tone was light, but not light enough that Blaise was sure he really wouldn't do it.

Blaise sighed. "Fine, fine. You're so whiny," he said, at last passing Draco the book.

"Well, isn't that your problem?" said Draco, smirking as he took the book and was out the door before Blaise's badly-aimed curse could hit him.

Draco took his time getting to the owlery, despite his belaboring of the point that he was in a rush while importuning Blaise. He meant to go faster, but it was after all a bloody nice night, so he lingered, strolling under wide, tall windows spilling moonlight into the still lit but already quiet halls. He kept mostly to the shadows, casting _Tempus_ every now and then so that he'd know when he would have to start dodging the other prefects. The book was now wrapped in brown paper, Transfigured from a discarded piece of parchment he'd been lucky enough to find on the ground as he walked, and tucked firmly under his arm.

When he finally arrived, he took a bit of time to say hello to the owls, petting them and giving a few treats. As he was doing this, he saw a white owl out of the corner of his eye. He smiled and walked over, having a look at it. It was almost pure white, except for a few flecks of gray on its shoulders. In other words, it was almost a dead ringer for Harry's poor dead Hedwig. He'd heard that Harry hadn't had the heart to replace her yet, using school owls instead. "Perfect," he murmured, feeding the owl a treat. "Give this to Harry Potter tomorrow morning, will you?" The owl ruffled its feathers, seemingly indicating assent. Draco leaned the book against the wall next to its roost, fed it another treat, and left. He smiled widely, envisioning Harry's reaction. He'd probably guess it was from Draco, and what exactly Draco was going to do in that event he wasn't sure, but he was going to enjoy seeing his lover's face when he figured out what kind of book it was. Draco licked his lips. _Oh yes. This is going to be fun. I can just sense it._


	6. Chapter Six: Initiation

Draco tapped his fingers on the table, sipped pumpkin juice. He had never been a particularly patient person, although he had relatively short bursts of extreme focus when he was planning something. But now he couldn't plan, not until he saw how Harry reacted. He wasn't looking for any reaction in particular—any reaction that would tell him where to go next would do. He counted to ten, and named all the pureblood wizarding families. _Come on. It's not like everything hinges on this. This is just a preliminary of sorts, so calm down._

"Draco? _Draco_! You're not subtle at all. Stop staring at Potter. It's extremely disconcerting."

Draco waved a hand dismissively at Blaise. "Oh, be quiet. Something's going to happen in a minute, once those damn lazy owls get here."

Blaise considered this for a moment before saying, "You're not serious. You haven't _pranked _Harry Potter, have you? Please tell me you're not that stupid." Blaise looked at Draco again and added, "They'd be on you like a ton of bricks. Like _two_ tons of bricks. And a half."

"I didn't prank him, exactly," said Draco absently, still watching Harry. _Goddammit, where are the owls?_

"Oh _Merlin_, mate, you _have_ pranked him, haven't you?"

"I said no. Don't be juvenile," Draco snapped. Soon after he heard the flapping of wings, and tensed slightly, eyes to the ceiling.

"Then what the fuck are you so anxious about?"

"Blaise, shut up a second. I'll tell you in a minute. I just need to see something."

Blaise rolled his eyes and sighed, exasperated, settling for following Draco's intent gaze. Draco picked out the owl he'd chosen to deliver his little present. It flew straight to Harry, who frowned and ran his hands over the package cautiously. _Come on, open it already!_ Beside him, Weasley asked him a question, and Harry replied with something noncommittal. He tore into the brown wrapping paper. It took every modicum of self-control Draco possessed, which really wasn't much, to keep from smirking as he saw Harry's eyes bug out and his face flush. He quickly shoved the wrapping paper over the cover. Oh god, how Draco wished he had an Extendable Ear! Harry's eyes were running up and down the Slytherin table, and Draco bent his head, not wanting to meet his gaze for fear of bursting out laughing. Oh, Harry was mad, all right. He studiously eyed his meager breakfast, waiting out the other boy's burning stare.

He started to feel another pair of eyes on him. After ignoring them for a full minute, he raised his own eyes to meet Blaise's. "What the fuck did you do?"

"It's rather a long story," Draco hedged.

"Well, you've got me really interested now. First the book, now Potter—" Draco's heart sunk as he saw something click in Blaise's head. "Hey, that package he just opened—that was a book, wasn't it?"

Draco couldn't hold it in any longer. He smirked the famous Malfoy smirk.

Blaise's eyes bugged as a few possibilities and inferences rushed through his head. "Wait half a minute. So Potter's—"

"An insufferable git, yes," Draco said loudly and pointedly, glaring at his friend.

"Yeah, yeah. That. Is he?" Blaise dropped his voice. "How do you know?"

"I'll tell you later. Somewhere private."

"_Muffliato_," Blaise said with a flick of his wand. "This is somewhere private."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Have you nothing better to do with your life?"

"This is important. Knowing the Boy Who Lived is a poofter would make my month. Hell, it'd probably make my year." Blaise grinned. "No offense to any other poofters present, of course." He grinned wider when Draco shoved him.

"If you tell anyone what I'm about to tell you right now, you are a dead man, Blaise Zabini. No, not even. Worse than dead." Draco said seriously, holding his friend's gaze.

Blaise put his hand over his heart and said solemnly, "On Salazar Slytherin's lack of honor, nothing you say will ever leave this—this spell bubble."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Spell bubble?"

Blaise shrugged. "Couldn't think of a better word. And you're avoiding the subject."

Draco sighed. He supposed he was going to have to tell Blaise sooner or later, whether this thing he'd started worked out or not. "Well, yes, Potter's gay. And I know because he kissed me during detention."

"He _what_?" Blaise's jaw was on the floor. "Your weird Potter fantasies actually _came_ _true_?"

Draco couldn't keep back a tiny smug smile. "Yeah. For a bit. Like—forty-five minutes of detention for a bit."

"You're not serious."

"Dead serious. Only he broke it off because he needs to 'think about his future' and he thinks he's supposed to be with the Weaselette."

Blaise nodded. "Except that he's quite clearly a poofter."

Draco rolled his eyes. "If you want to be offensive about it, yes."

Blaise bit his lip. "So did you send him the book as revenge?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure quite what I'm doing about this yet, Blaise. But the point of sending him the book was so that he'd see that it's okay to be gay in the wizarding world."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "You think it'll work? Potter's normally extremely thick and extremely stubborn."

Draco frowned. "He's stubborn, but he's not that thick."

Blaise laughed. "Oh sweet Merlin, you _have_ got it bad."

Draco shoved him again and replied, "Anyway, I do think it'll work. Surely he can't be so stupid as to think he can deny himself and actually go through with marrying the Weaselette." He thought a bit, and added, "At least, not while I have anything to say about it."

Blaise sighed, but he was smiling. "Well, best of luck, mate. I hope you know what you're getting into, you git."

Draco smirked. "I don't. But I'm a Slytherin, remember? Cunning folks using any means to achieve their ends?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "_Finite incantatem_." He rubbed his temples. "Asshole. Just be careful."

Draco laughed. "Blaise, I'm a coward. When am I not?"

"When you're stupid," replied his friend.

Draco didn't bother shoving him.

"I need to talk to you," said Harry tersely as soon as Draco got out of the Great Hall.

"And? I have better things to do, Potter," Draco said carefully, eyes flicking to the other students around them.

"Come on, then," Harry said, understanding Draco's look perfectly. Draco wondered how the hell Harry couldn't see they were indubitably made for each other.

But he followed Harry in silence. He should really be thinking about what he was going to say when Harry accused him of sending the book, but instead he just studied Harry's agitated walk. It was kind of sexy, the way he stomped down the hall with his eyes burning and his fists slightly clenched. But then, Harry Potter had always had the annoying talent of being excruciatingly desirable when he was angry. Especially when he was angry at Draco, because he always got really angry at Draco.

Finally Harry flung open the door of an empty classroom, shoved Draco inside, and pulled the door shut behind him. He adjusted his glasses and said, "It was you that sent the damn book, wasn't it?"

"Book?" Draco asked, seraphic.

"This morning. I know you sent it. You're the only one who knows." Harry's eyes were on fire, and he was practically growling. Draco told himself to focus on the situation at hand and not on the fact that he really liked Harry growling.

"Has it ever occurred to you that someone could have figured it out? Some people have an—intuition for this sort of thing. I believe Muggles call it 'gaydar,'" Draco said, crossing his arms over his chest with a sarcastic smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. "You really fucking drive me nuts sometimes, you know that? Did. You. Send. The. Sodding. Book. Draco?"

It was entirely idiotic, but it made Draco insanely happy that Harry had said he only drove him nuts "sometimes," and that he'd used Draco's first name even though he was pissed.

Draco thought for a moment. Should he tell the truth? It would be a lot simpler than making up an elaborate lie on the spot. Then again, it might be a lot more dangerous, too. Draco studied Harry's stance. His weeks of observation told him that Harry was anxious and a bit desperate as well as angry. He could probably play to that—

Or he could be honest with the boy he loved. With the boy who was honest with everyone. Draco sighed. _Fuck._ "You know what? I did send the book, Harry." And now that he'd gotten rolling, he could continue gaining momentum. "So what if I did? It's of interest to you. And—" Draco took a deep breath, looking Harry in the eyes. "And I have a right to fight for you. It'd be different if you didn't feel the same way, or were straight, or decided for certain that you love the Weaselette after all. But none of that's true, is it?" He waited for Harry's answer, but the other just fumed in sullen silence, not looking at him. So he continued. "Since that's the case, I'm not going to just give you up and watch you ruin your life for other people."

Harry snorted. "You always had a flair for melodrama."

"I'm not exaggerating. I'm not saying you're going to die if you're not with me, but if you're really gay then you'll just make yourself miserable by marrying the Weaselette."

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Anyway, think about it. And again—" Draco walked up close to Harry so that their chests were almost touching. "I'm not giving up until you give me a definite refusal. You going to do that, Potter?" He met and held Harry's gaze for a while.

"You—I can't even—" Harry started.

Draco leaned forward and pressed their lips together briefly, tenderly. "Be seeing you, Harry." And he walked out. As soon as he had turned the corner, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

_Draco Malfoy-one, Weaselette-zero._


	7. Chapter Seven: Innovation

Draco had decided that he'd liked Harry's reaction to his last stunt very much, but he hadn't decided what was next. He had an idea. He had several ideas, in fact, but most of them involved shoving Potter against the wall and shagging him into oblivion until he got the point. But unfortunately, he had the sneaking suspicion that that wouldn't go over well. No, Harry Potter needed to be handled with subtlety and care.

He sat in Transfiguration, and so far he'd managed to turn the given toad into anything but the requisite pillow. He cursed as it exploded in a pile of feathers.

"Mr. Malfoy, that is the third toad this class. Please do try and _focus_ on what you are doing," Professor McGonagall said sternly.

"Sorry, Professor, I just—"

"It's all right, Mr. Malfoy. Just focus."

_I _can't_ focus. Not with Harry three fucking desks away. Hasn't looked at me once this whole class, either._ He thought briefly about dipping bits of paper in ink and throwing them at Harry as he had that day he got them detention. Draco sighed, picking up his wand again, and recited the incantation, struggling to keep his attention on the slimy creature before him. _Come on, just change into a fucking pillow, can't be so hard…_

He felt someone's eyes on him, looked up and saw that they were that deep, warm green, lighter than Slytherin emerald but darker than grass, and he held that gaze desperately, trying to discern the emotions embedded therein. _Harry, give in, Harry, I love you, Harry, don't let other people dictate your life!_ He tried to fuse all his emotions into that gaze, and Harry looked as if he understood, was coming around now—and then he closed his eyes and turned away.

Draco's fingers curled around the edge of his desk. _That's it. I'm doing something. Tonight._

After Transfiguration let out, Draco decided to cut class (although he really couldn't afford to; ah well, he'd say he was sick, it wasn't as if they'd check) in search of Theodore Nott. Despite his reticence and generally staid-seeming personality, Nott was a connoisseur of obscure pornography. Draco wanted something that would really shock Harry, something that would show him that there were really all sorts in the wizarding world.

…Of course, the shocking Harry part might perhaps take precedence.

Draco wasn't really sure that Nott had a free period just now, but he figured it was worth a try, and anyway he enjoyed a good turn around the grounds.

It took him a good hour to find Nott, but he was (predictably) reading by the Black Lake. Once he saw the boy, he ran over and shoved the book out of Nott's hands. "Nott. I need the help of your sick, sick mind."

Nott blinked at him. "What? I thought you said the other day that I only needed glasses because of all the jacking off I did."

Draco laughed anxiously. "Aha, yeah. Well. Historical reference, you know. You masturbate, you go blind." He cleared his throat. "I was joking. Anyway." He stared deeply into Nott's eyes. "I want you to give me the very worst gay porn you have."

Nott adjusted his glasses. "Worst as in quality, or content?"

"Content, of course. I want something so shocking it even hurts _you_ to watch it."

Nott sighed. "I don't _watch_ everything, you know. Mostly I just collect—" he stopped in the middle of Draco's withering look. "All right. You're free now?"

"Would I be—oh wait. I would. But I am legitimately free at present," Draco said with a grin. "So what's this going to cost me?"

Nott stared at him with a calculating look Draco didn't like. "Why do you want it?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Gift. For someone else."

"A gift? What the fuck kind of a gift is that? Either you want it for your own use, which I doubt—you could just get it elsewhere and avoid embarrassment—or you have a motive. Who are you giving it to and why?"

"I can't—"

"How badly do you want it?"

Draco sighed gustily. He could get it somewhere else. But whatever he got probably wouldn't be as good as Nott's stuff, and so wouldn't have as great an effect on Harry. And now that this whole sending-Harry-gay-porn idea had been implanted in his brain, it wouldn't leave. It was a pretty damn good idea, too. He'd be hard-pressed to think of something as good. And he didn't want to give Harry the idea that he'd given up.

"Fine. Can I swear you to secrecy?"

Nott nodded. "I wouldn't let you do an Unbreakable Vow, but you wouldn't need to anyway. I promise."

Draco sighed. "Why do you want to know?"

Nott leered creepily. "I don't know. Whenever you have a secret, it tends to be very good."

"Fuck off, Nott." Draco looked away, not enjoying the reference to his troubled time as a Death Eater. "But fine. Show me the money first."

"You got it." Nott winked, got up, and started to walk towards the castle. Draco shivered. _God _damn_, that boy is creepy sometimes._

#

Draco was in pain. It was terribly awkward standing there while Nott sifted through boxes and boxes of porn and knowing that yes, he was actually so desperate that he was not only going to send Harry Potter hard-core gay porn, but that he was going to tell Nott at least part of the story of his and Harry's relationship, which was increasingly looking like a terrible idea.

He was just about to tell Nott to forget it when the other boy turned around, creepy leer in place and a colorful magazine in hand. "Alrighty, Draco. Now give up the goods."

Draco sighed. "You swear nothing will leave this room? And are aware of what I will do to you if it does?"

Nott nodded solemnly.

"Okay, well, I sort of… I'm sending it to Harry Potter."

Nott's eyebrows reached his hairline. "Okay… and… you're trying to shock his innocent Gryffindor soul in order to hopefully give him a heart attack?"

Draco jumped at the chance. "Yes. I mean, it's a great prank, don't you think? It's like, it'll gross him out _and_ fuck with his mind." Draco realized he had spoken too quickly and too eagerly, and held his breath, waiting for Nott to question him.

But Nott only sighed and handed over the magazine. "I thought it'd be more interesting than that, Draco. Ah well. Thanks anyway."

Draco smiled winningly. "Thanks, Nott."

He didn't feel Nott's eyes on him as he walked out.

Draco darted back to his room and began wrapping up his present, a wide grin on his face. _Oh god. This is going to be so much fun. Even better than the book! Can't wait to see his face. Mmm, and that blush… okay. I need to finish this._

He went to bed at midnight, having sent off his owl and feeling very, very satisfied with himself, and excited for the next morning. He paid no attention to the slightly disturbing thought at the back of his mind that Nott wouldn't give up so easily when he had clearly been cheated on a deal.


End file.
